


Join The Dots

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: When it could not get any worse.  (11/24/2003)





	1. PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Dedication: To Dorothy Bruce.  


* * *

PART 1 

Chased from the cargo bay by, let's face it, a jellyfish. 

No thought for anyone else, not even the man I professed (to myself) to love. What does that say about me? 

Setting myself up for pain. That's all I deserve. 

And when it seems that we'll all get passed that, move on? What happens? 

I lose my communicator. A first year cadet would not make that mistake. Could it get any worse? 

Of course it could. 

It's my job to rescue the captain. Well, strictly speaking it's my job to make sure he doesn't need rescuing. When you're dealing with an all-American you have to make allowances. For everything, from inappropriate gestures at inappropriate moments, to contaminating a planet. 

Dear, Lord; make it worth it. It has to be worth it. 

What will my role be today? 

Tactical Officer. 

Strong. 

Weapons Specialist. 

Experienced. 

Security Chief. 

Suspicious. 

All round screw up and failure. 

That's me. 

No. 

He says not. My moor of tranquility. My Trip knows me. He knows my passions and fears. He knows my pride and disgust. He understands my duality; the public and private faces. 

Is it this easy to hate the whole and love the man? 

It must be. I forgive him everything; Ah-Len, Lianna, Kaitamma. 

He says they mean nothing. To him, that's true. But to me, they are everything. 

I can't go on like this.


	2. PART 2

PART 2 

We had the TALK today. 

My, wasn't that fun? 

The bastard's been avoiding me for weeks. Does he think he has a monoply on hurt? 

Of course he does. His sister's gone. Just like that. A blink to dislodge a spec of dirt from your eye, and she's gone. So simple. 

But the mark from your finger remains. A red slash across your face. 

Memories. Good, bad, what does it matter? 

He won't let anybody in. 

Archer tried. 

I'm not jealous, well I tried not to be, but in the end it didn't work. 

I am jealous. And I am hurt. I wanted to know, to love Lizzie like he knew her, loved her; like a brother. 

Trip won't let me. He sees that my sister is still breathing, so I can't understand what he's going through. Until you've been there...'Until?' Is THAT what it will take? To understand? 

Oh, I understand all right. I know it all. 

I know duty, I know loyalty. I know hardship. I know that 'what doesn't kill us, makes us strong', but I also know that without, for want of a better term, 'love', simply speaking; there is no future. 

Dearie, dearie me. 

If my father heard that! 

He made the same mistake, you know. 

He confused duty with blindness, loyalty with forgiveness. 

Not for me. I am blinded with my duty, almost forgiven for my loyalty to living. 

My sister lives. I do not apologise for that. 

I thank and praise any and every deity that she lives. When you can't protect your nearest and dearest personally, what's wrong with calling on the fates? 

Sometimes the fates answer. Mostly they don't. 

And now, as we head to the Expanse, I find myself waiting. 

Waiting for his love, waiting for hope. Waiting for the next breath.


	3. PART 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to be serious for a moment (feedback always makes me dizzy) Thanks to Leah, Zoe, Sue and Kal. All of your names are a passport to GREAT fic, even if I don't always tell you so. Give me an 'A', Give me an 'U', Give me an 'AU'. Yea! (Pom Poms all over. Raining Pom Poms in fact.)

  
Author's notes: Trying to be serious for a moment (feedback always makes me dizzy) Thanks to Leah, Zoe, Sue and Kal. All of your names are a passport to GREAT fic, even if I don't always tell you so. Give me an 'A', Give me an 'U', Give me an 'AU'. Yea! (Pom Poms all over. Raining Pom Poms in fact.)  


* * *

PART 3 

NORTH ATLANTIC FRONT. 1996. HEIGHT OF THE EUGENICS WARS. 

"Target locked, Captain." 

An instant feeling of weight, but Captain Malcolm Reed did not hesitate. "Fire." The tone was measured, calm. 

The master-at-arms' tone was equally devoid of emotion when he replied, "Target destroyed, sir." 

Reed nodded in acknowledgement, "Very well. Sonar, Conn; Report all contacts." 

"Conn, Sonar; negative on contacts," the enthusiasm of the operator shone through, "we're all alone out...belay my last." Acute silence reigned on the sub. "Conn, Sonar, I have a bogey bearing 227, mark 3, mark 4, mark 6? Sir! he's off the chart!" 

"I hear you!" Captain Reed scrambled for the charts. "Load tubes 1 and 2." 

"Tubes loaded." 

"Position." 

"Nowhere!" 

"What?" 

"He's gone, sir." 

"No!" Reed whirled around. "That can't be!" 

The Chief held his arms wide. "I'm sorry, Captain. He's away." 

"Not on my watch," Reed snarled. "Sonar, Conn. Where is the bastard?" 

"Conn, sonar," everyone heard the nervousness of the operator's voice. "He's gone, sir. I don't know how, but the 'Botany Bay' just disappeared...sir." 

Captain Reed looked over his crew, eyes blazing with a glacial fire, "Remember this day. We failed. We failed to end this war. From this day on, we are responsible for every life taken." His shoulders slumped and he added in a whisper, "I am responsible for every life taken." 

No one contradicted him, no one had heard. Captain Malcolm Reed straightened his shoulders, set his head up and turned to the helm. 

"Make depth 10 metres. I have to inform Command that Khan Noonien Singh has escaped." 

\--MADAGASCAR SEA, A.D. 2121. 

Boring. Boring, Boring, boring, boring and...bloody boring. 

Newly commissioned Lieutenant Stuart Reed gazed out over a vast vista of...boringness. 

'That's not even a word!' 'Who cares?' 'I don't.' 'What else is as boring as this watch?' 'I don't know, watching paint dry?' 'Maybe, but at least paint changes colour as it dries.' 'Is that right? I never knew that.' 'You don't watch enough paint dry.' 'I knew there was something missing from my life.' 'Oh yeah.' 'What's that supposed to mean?' 'Just, yeah, there's a lot of things missing from your life.' 'Like what?' Stuart was quite proud that he could sound disdainful, even in his own head. 'Like friends...?' 

The imaginary question tailed off as Stuart focussed on a point just short of the horizon. 

"What the..." 

"That's all right, Lieutenant." 

Reed jumped, and squeeked. God, he squeeked like a frightened mouse. Hoping to salvage something of his pride he stammered, "S- sorry, sir. We were not expecting any landing tonight." 

"Good. There was no landing tonight, Lieutenant. Just a drill. Nothing more." 

Lieutenant Reed nodded to the captain with relief. He automatically turned to the fo'castle in response to Captain Forester's wordless command. His back was ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the gently bobbing horizon, but his ears, those treacherous ears; they were not so easily subdued... 

"Captain Soval, it is a pleasure..." 

"I'm sure..." 

Stuart's lip curled in annoyance. All this trouble, just to get the Vulcans on board. Things had come to a pretty pass when the bloody Vulcans were the guests of honour. Stuart was just beginning to berate himself for his lack of foresight and general xenophobia when a voice drifted back on the breeze. 

Stuart shuddered. He told himself he was mistaken, that what he 'thought' he heard was wrong. No enlightened, warp-capable species would be so, so damn crude. 

"Andorians are inferior to Vulcans in every way. Their inferiority makes them dangerous. They should be eliminated." 

No. Stuart had heard wrong. He must have. 

Lieutenant-Commander Stuart Reed stood on the deck of his submarine and watched as the stretchers of the dead were carried off the boat. His boat now. Reed bowed his head, sweeping his cap down as the last stretcher emerged. Captain Pike had been a fine man. Now he was a husk. Another dead weight on corporations' souls. 

Not that they would notice. 

Reed's eye was drawn to a small figure jigging up and down, waving his arm wildly. For a moment the hard features softened; at least one child still had a father. Then Stuart recognised the mother stepping forward to keep ahold of her excited off-spring. Carolyn. Carolyn Pike. His late Captain's wife. The child was Christopher, his godson. 

Stuart sighed and, in that moment vowed; 'No son of mine will lose his father like that.' 

REED FAMILY HOME, MALAYSIA, 2140. 

He could not believe that this was happening. After all the training, all the discipline, all the lectures, all the encouragement; his son wanted to join Starfleet. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

That went down like a lead balloon. 

REED FAMILY HOME, MALAYSIA, 2152. 

I'm an old man now. Tired, spent. I've grown up with stories of my great-great-grandfather's heroism. He'd passed them on to his children and they to me, hoping...Hoping for what? Hoping that they would not make the same mistakes he had, I have? 

Success. 

The children are not making his or my mistakes, they are making their own. That's progress, isn't it? 

Madeline; Always had her nose in a book, didn't come up for air, food or light. Now she's in Washington. Mary and I don't like it, but what can we do? She's her own person. We've never denied her that. We are proud of her, she's everything a daughter could and should be. My own grandchildren! Fancy that! I'll be a grandfather. Ah, if Dad and Grand-dad could see me now... 

But they can. I don't believe in life after death; there's so much going on here I'm rather looking forward to the peace; but I know those far off officers are judging the way I raised my son. 

Who can blame them? 

They wanted a spit and polish yes man. I gave them a boy, man, with a mind of his own, strength of purpose and more tactical ability in his little finger than I managed in my whole career. 

And I want my boy back. 

Once, just once. I want my boy back. 

Personal Log; Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. 

Here we go! 

I'm trying to sound, I don't know, uncaring? No, that's not right. Flippant? Maybe. Trip used to do 'flippant' so well. Not any more. No, I want to sound brave, resolute, determined. Perhaps Trip would like that. Not that it matters. Commander Tucker is fully focussed on our mission. As am I, of course. 

We installed monitoring equipment in the decon bay this last shift. 

All above board I hasten to add. Captain Archer called all off-duty personnel into the mess, gave them the options; 'Unknown Xindi Spies' or 'Security'. 

Needless to say, the crew voted for 'Security'. I did too. I want 'security'; according to Tri- Commander Tucker, that's all I'm good for. 

But I can't help worrying. Mostly about my friends, my home, but deep down, where I try not to go, I worry about us, as a species. 

Leaving aside their outward appearance, the Xindi we've met seem just like us. They want a future for their children. So do I. I want us to go on. All of us. 

I see them together; the captain and Trip. Bouncing off each other's hate. I can't blame them. I've hated my whole life. I was allowed to put aside that hate, very briefly, but now I fear that if I want my love, I must hate with equal intensity. 

Can I do that? 

Can I at least try? 

When did it come to this? 

I can't help but remember the 'Hood', the mine...I gave the captain the official story. Reed heroics as it was told to me, but inquisitive child as I was, I researched. And I found that they could have been saved; bad weather, obsolete equipment, asking for help; without the first two and with the third, my great-uncle could have lived. Long odds? Sure. But I'll take long odds over no odds any day of the week, just like I said to Travis. 

We could all live. 

End Personal Log. 

Sergeant Kemper marched determinedly down the corridor flanked by two uncomfortable looking security personnel. Kemper stopped outside a certain crewmembers door and rang the chime. 

"Enter." The door slid back revealing Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sitting at his desk. Kemper stepped through while the security staff hung back. 

"Lieutenant." 

Reed did not turn round. "Sergeant, what do you want?" 

Kemper stared at the bulkhead, "Sir, I am placing you under arrest." 

Now Reed turned round, face questioning. "Indeed? What are the charges?" 

"Dereliction of duty. Dissemination of material contrary to Article 17 of the Starfleet Charter. Behaviour unbecoming an officer." 

Reed's shoulders twitched slightly. His mouth turned up in his patented sardonic smile, "And on who's authority do you make these charges?" 

"The Captain's, sir." 

Reed nodded; so it had begun. He held his wrists out, that faint smile playing around his face. "Go ahead, Sergeant." 

Kemper clicked the restraints around the lieutenant's wrists and led him back out into the corridor. Reed nodded to his former Security colleagues, "Tanner, Jameson." Neither would look at him. 

Reed shrugged and turned to follow Kemper. 

"What the hell is going on here?" 

The party stopped and turned to face Commander Tucker. 

"I'm under arrest, Trip." 

"You remember the discussion the senior staff had about security, sir?" 

Tucker's eyes flicked over the hulking security officers, met Reed's then slid over to Kemper. 

"Yes, I do." 

Kemper gestured to Reed. "This is the result." 

Tucker's eyes flared. "I see." He nodded, "Carry on." 

Kemper saluted Tucker and whisked Reed away. 

And the last part of Malcolm's heart cracked, split and ran screaming for cover. 

As they approached a corner Reed glanced back, he always was a glutton for punishment. Tucker stood; arms crossed, legs planted apart, face hard; unmoving. 

Then they turned the corner and Trip was lost to view. 

Malcolm knew it was the last time he'd ever see Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker III. 

~the end~


End file.
